Light Freights

by W. W. Jacobs

  It was getting late in the afternoon as Master Jones, in a somewhatfamished condition, strolled up Aldgate, with a keen eye on the gutter,in search of anything that would serve him for his tea. Too late, hewished that he had saved some of the stale bread and damaged fruit whichhad constituted his dinner.

  Aldgate proving barren, he turned up into the quieter Minories,skilfully dodging the mechanical cuff of the constable at the corner ashe passed, and watching with some interest the efforts of a straymongrel to get itself adopted. Its victim had sworn at it, cut at itwith his stick, and even made little runs at it--all to no purpose.Finally, being a soft-hearted man, he was weak enough to pat thecowering schemer on the head, and, being frantically licked by thehomeless one, took it up in his arms and walked off with it.

  Billy Jones watched the proceedings with interest, not untempered byenvy. If he had only been a dog! The dog passed in the man's arms, and,with a whine of ecstasy, insisted upon licking his ear. They went ontheir way, the dog wondering between licks what sort of table the mankept, and the man speculating idly as to a descent which appeared tohave included, among other things, an ant-eater.

  "'E's all right," said the orphan, wistfully; "no coppers to chivvy 'imabout, and as much grub as he wants. Wish I'd been a dog."

  He tied up his breeches with a piece of string which was lying on thepavement, and, his hands being now free, placed them in a couple ofrents which served as pockets, and began to whistle. He was not a proudboy, and was quite willing to take a lesson even from the humblest.Surely he was as useful as a dog!

  The thought struck him just as a stout, kindly-looking seaman passedwith a couple of shipmates. It was a good-natured face, and the figurewas that of a man who lived well. A moment's hesitation, and MasterJones, with a courage born of despair, ran after him and tugged him bythe sleeve.

  "Halloa!" said Mr. Samuel Brown, looking round. "What do you want?"

  "Want you, father," said Master Jones.

  The jolly seaman's face broke into a smile. So also did the faces of thejolly seaman's friends.

  "I'm not your father, matey," he said, good-naturedly.

  "Yes, you are," said the desperate Billy; "you know you are."

  "You've made a mistake, my lad," said Mr. Brown, still smiling. "Here,run away."

  He felt in his trouser pocket and produced a penny. It was a gift, not abribe, but it had by no means the effect its donor intended. MasterJones, now quite certain that he had made a wise choice of a father,trotted along a yard or two in the rear.

  "Look here, my lad," exclaimed Mr. Brown, goaded into action byintercepting a smile with which Mr. Charles Legge had favoured Mr. HarryGreen, "you run off home."

  "Where do you live now?" inquired Billy, anxiously.

  Mr. Green, disdaining concealment, slapped Mr. Legge on the back, and,laughing uproariously, regarded Master Jones with much kindness.

  "You mustn't follow me," said Sam, severely; "d'ye hear?"

  "All right, father," said the boy, dutifully.

  "And don't call me father," vociferated Mr. Brown.

  "Why not?" inquired the youth, artlessly.

  Mr. Legge stopped suddenly, and, putting his hand on Mr. Green'sshoulder, gaspingly expressed his inability to go any farther. Mr.Green, patting his back, said he knew how he felt, because he felt thesame, and, turning to Sam, told him he'd be the death of him if hewasn't more careful.

  "If you don't run away," said Mr. Brown, harshly, as he turned to theboy, "I shall give you a hiding."

  "Where am I to run to?" whimpered Master Jones, dodging off and on.

  "Run 'ome," said Sam.

  "That's where I'm going," said Master Jones, following.

  "Better try and give 'im the slip, Sam," said Mr. Legge, in aconfidential whisper; "though it seems an unnatural thing to do."

  "Unnatural? What d'ye mean?" demanded his unfortunate friend. "Wot d'yemean by unnatural?"

  "Oh, if you're going to talk like that, Sam," said Mr. Legge, shortly,"it's no good giving you advice. As you've made your bed, you must layon it."

  "How long is it since you saw 'im last, matey?" inquired Mr. Green.

  "I dunno; not very long," replied the boy, cautiously.

  "Has he altered at all since you see 'im last?" inquired the counsel forthe defence, motioning the fermenting Mr. Brown to keep still.

  "No," said Billy, firmly; "not a bit."

  "Wot's your name?"

  "Billy," was the reply.

  "Billy wot?"

  "Billy Jones."

  Mr. Green's face cleared, and he turned to his friends with a smile ofjoyous triumph. Sam's face reflected his own, but Charlie Legge's wasstill overcast.

  "It ain't likely," he said impressively; "it ain't likely as Sam wouldgo and get married twice in the same name, is it? Put it to yourself,'Arry--would you?

  "Look 'ere," exclaimed the infuriated Mr. Brown, "don't you interfere inmy business. You're a crocodile, that's wot you are. As for you, youlittle varmint, you run off, d'ye hear?"

  He moved on swiftly, accompanied by the other two, and set an example oflooking straight ahead of him, which was, however, lost upon hisfriends.

  "'E's still following of you, Sam," said the crocodile, in by no meansdisappointed tones.

  "Sticking like a leech," confirmed Mr. Green. "'E's a pretty littlechap, rather."

  "Takes arter 'is mother," said the vengeful Mr. Legge.

  The unfortunate Sam said nothing, but strode a haunted man downNightingale Lane into Wapping High Street, and so to the ketch NancyBell, which was lying at Shrimpett's Wharf. He stepped on board withouta word, and only when he turned to descend the forecastle ladder did hisgaze rest for a moment on the small, forlorn piece of humanity standingon the wharf.

  "Halloa, boy, what do you want?" cried the skipper, catching sight ofhim.

  "Want my father, sir--Sam," replied the youth, who had kept his earsopen.

  The skipper got up from his seat and eyed him curiously; Messrs. Leggeand Green, drawing near, explained the situation. Now the skipper was aworldly man; and Samuel Brown, A.B., when at home, played a brassinstrument in the Salvation Army band. He regarded the boy kindly andspoke to him fair.

  "Don't run away," he said, anxiously.

  "I'm not going to, sir," said Master Jones, charmed with his manner, andhe watched breathlessly as the skipper stepped forward, and, peeringdown the forecastle, called loudly for Sam.

  "Yes, sir," said a worried voice.

  "Your boy's asking after you," said the skipper, grinning madly.

  "He's not my boy, sir," replied Mr. Brown, through his clenched teeth.

  "Well, you'd better come up and see him," said the other. "Are you surehe isn't, Sam?"

  Mr. Brown made no reply, but coming on deck met Master Jones's smile ofgreeting with an icy stare, and started convulsively as the skipperbeckoned him aboard.

  "He's been rather neglected, Sam," said the skipper, shaking his head.

  "Wot's it got to do with me?" said Sam, violently. "I tell you I'venever seen 'im afore this arternoon."

  "You hear what your father says," said the skipper--("Hold your tongue,Sam.) Where's your mother, boy?"

  "Dead, sir," whined Master Jones. "I've on'y got 'im now."

  The skipper was a kind-hearted man, and he looked pityingly at theforlorn little figure by his side. And Sam was the good man of the shipand a leading light at Dimport.

  "How would you like to come to sea with your father?" he inquired.

  The grin of delight with which Master Jones received this proposal wassufficient reply.

  "I wouldn't do it for everybody," pursued the skipper, glancing severelyat the mate, who was behaving foolishly, "but I don't mind obliging you,Sam. He can come."

  "Obliging?" repeated Mr. Brown, hardly able to get the words out."Obliging me? I don't want to be obliged."

  "There, there," interrupted the skipper. "I don't want any thanks. Takehim forrard and give him something to eat--he looks half-sta
rved, poorlittle chap."

  He turned away and went down to the cabin, while the cook, whom Mr.Brown had publicly rebuked for his sins the day before, led the boy tothe galley and gave him a good meal. After that was done Charlie washedhim, and Harry going ashore, begged a much-worn suit of boy's clothesfrom a foreman of his acquaintance. He also brought back a message fromthe foreman to Mr. Brown to the effect that he was surprised at him.

  The conversation that evening after Master Jones was asleep turned uponbigamy, but Mr. Brown snored through it all, though Mr. Legge's remarkthat the revelations of that afternoon had thrown a light upon manylittle things in his behaviour which had hitherto baffled him cameperilously near to awaking him.

  At six in the morning they got under way, the boy going nearly franticwith delight as sail after sail was set, and the ketch, with a stiffbreeze, rapidly left London behind her. Mr. Brown studiously ignoredhim, but the other men pampered him to his heart's content, and even thecabin was good enough to manifest a little concern in his welfare, theskipper calling Mr. Brown up no fewer than five times that day tocomplain about his son's behaviour.

  "I can't have somersaults on this 'ere ship, Sam," he remarked, shakinghis head; "it ain't the place for 'em."

  "I wonder at you teaching 'im such things," said the mate, in gravedisapprobation.

  "Me?" said the hapless Sam, trembling with passion.

  "He must 'ave seen you do it," said the mate, letting his eye rovecasually over Sam's ample proportions. "You must ha' been leading adouble life altogether, Sam."

  "That's nothing to do with us," interrupted the skipper, impatiently. "Idon't mind Sam turning cart-wheels all day if it amuses him, but theymustn't do it here, that's all. It's no good standing there sulking,Sam; I can't have it."

  He turned away, and Mr. Brown, unable to decide whether he was mad ordrunk, or both, walked back, and, squeezing himself up in the bows,looked miserably over the sea. Behind him the men disported themselveswith Master Jones, and once, looking over his shoulder, he actually sawthe skipper giving him a lesson in steering.

  By the following afternoon he was in such a state of collapse that, whenthey put in at the small port of Withersea to discharge a portion oftheir cargo, he obtained permission to stay below in his bunk. Workproceeded without him, and at nine o'clock in the evening they sailedagain, and it was not until they were a couple of miles on their way toDimport that Mr. Legge rushed aft with the announcement that he wasmissing.

  "Don't talk nonsense," said the skipper, as he came up from below inresponse to a hail from the mate.

  "It's a fact, sir," said Mr. Legge, shaking his head.

  "What's to be done with the boy?" demanded the mate, blankly.

  "Sam's a unsteady, unreliable, tricky old man," exclaimed the skipper,hotly; "the idea of going and leaving a boy on our hands like that. I'msurprised at him. I'm disappointed in Sam--deserting!"

  "I expect 'e's larfing like anything, sir," remarked Mr. Legge.

  "Get forrard," said the skipper, sharply; "get forrard at once, d'yehear?"

  "But what's to be done with the boy?--that's what I want to know," saidthe mate.

  "What d'ye think's to be done with him?" bawled the skipper. "We can'tchuck him overboard, can we?"

  "I mean when we get to Dimport?" growled the mate.

  "Well, the men'll talk," said the skipper, calming down a little, "andperhaps Sam's wife'll come and take him. If not, I suppose he'll have togo to the workhouse. Anyway, it's got nothing to do with me. I wash myhands of it altogether."

  He went below again, leaving the mate at the wheel. A murmur of voicescame from the forecastle, where the crew were discussing the behaviourof their late colleague. The bereaved Master Jones, whose face wasstreaky with the tears of disappointment, looked on from his bunk.

  "What are you going to do, Billy?" inquired the cook.

  "I dunno," said the boy, miserably.

  He sat up in his bunk in a brown study, ever and anon turning his sharplittle eyes from one to another of the men. Then, with a final sniff tothe memory of his departed parent, he composed himself to sleep.

  With the buoyancy of childhood he had forgotten his trouble by themorning, and ran idly about the ship as before, until in the afternoonthey came in sight of Dimport. Mr. Legge, who had a considerable respectfor the brain hidden in that small head, pointed it out to him, and withsome curiosity waited for his remarks.

  "I can see it," said Master Jones, briefly.

  "That's where Sam lives," said his friend, pointedly.

  "Yes," said the boy, nodding, "all of you live there, don't you?"

  It was an innocent enough remark in all conscience, but there was thatin Master Jones's eye which caused Mr. Legge to move away hastily andglance at him in some disquietude from the other side of the deck. Theboy, unconscious of the interest excited by his movements, walkedrestlessly up and down.

  "Boy's worried," said the skipper, aside, to the mate; "cheer up,sonny."

  Billy looked up and smiled, and the cloud which had sat on his brow whenhe thought of the coldblooded desertion of Mr. Brown gave way to anexpression of serene content.

  "Well, what's he going to do?" inquired the mate, in a low voice.

  "That needn't worry us," said the skipper.

  "Let things take their course; that's my motto."

  He took the wheel from Harry; the little town came closer; the housesseparated and disclosed roads, and the boy discovered to hisdisappointment that the church stood on ground of its own, and not onthe roof of a large red house as he had supposed. He ran forward as theygot closer, and, perching up in the bows until they were fast to thequay, looked round searchingly for any signs of Sam.

  The skipper locked up the cabin, and then calling on one of the shorehands to keep an eye on the forecastle, left it open for the convenienceof the small passenger. Harry, Charlie, and the cook stepped ashore. Theskipper and mate followed, and the latter, looking back from somedistance, called his attention to the desolate little figure sitting onthe hatch.

  "I s'pose he'll be all right," said the skipper, uneasily; "there's foodand a bed down the fo'c's'le. You might just look round to-night and seehe's safe. I expect we'll have to take him back to London with us."

  They turned up a small road in the direction of home and walked on insilence, until the mate, glancing behind at an acquaintance who had justpassed, uttered a sharp exclamation. The skipper turned, and a smallfigure which had just shot round the corner stopped in mid-career andeyed them warily. The men exchanged uneasy glances.

  "Father," cried a small voice.

  "He--he's adopted you now," said the skipper, huskily.

  "Or you," said the mate. "I never took much notice of him."

  He looked round again. Master Jones was following briskly, about tenyards in the rear, and twenty yards behind him came the crew, who,having seen him quit the ship, had followed with the evident intentionof being in at the death.

  "Father," cried the boy again, "wait for me."

  One or two passers-by stared in astonishment, and the mate began to beuneasy as to the company he was keeping.

  "Let's separate," he growled, "and see who he's calling after."

  The skipper caught him by the arm. "Shout out to him to go back," hecried.

  "It's you he's after, I tell you," said the mate. "Who do you want,Billy?"

  "I want my father," cried the youth, and, to prevent any mistake,indicated the raging skipper with his finger.

  "Who do you want?" bellowed the latter, in a frightful voice.

  "Want you, father," chirrupped Master Jones.

  Wrath and dismay struggled for supremacy in the skipper's face, and hepaused to decide whether it would be better to wipe Master Jones off theface of the earth or to pursue his way in all the strength of consciousinnocence. He chose the latter course, and, a shade more erect thanusual, walked on until he came in sight of his house and his wife, whowas standing at the door.

  "You come along o' me,
Jem, and explain," he whispered to the mate. Thenhe turned about and hailed the crew. The crew, flattered at beingoffered front seats in the affair, came forward eagerly.

  "What's the matter?" inquired Mrs. Hunt, eyeing the crowd in amazementas it grouped itself in anticipation.

  "Nothing," said her husband, off-handedly.

  "Who's that boy?" cried the innocent woman.

  "It's a poor little mad boy," began the skipper; "he came aboard--"

  "I'm not mad, father," interrupted Master Jones.

  "A poor little mad boy," continued the skipper, hastily, "who cameaboard in London and said poor old Sam Brown was his father."

  "No--you, father," cried the boy, shrilly.

  "He calls everybody his father," said the skipper, with a smile ofanguish; "that's the form his madness takes. He called Jem here hisfather."

  "No, he didn't," said the mate, bluntly.

  "And then he thought Charlie was his father."

  "No, sir," said Mr. Legge, with respectful firmness.

  "Well, he said Sam Brown was," said the skipper.

  "Yes, that's right, sir," said the crew. "Where is Sam?" inquired Mrs.Hunt, looking round expectantly.

  "He deserted the ship at Withersea," said her husband.

  "I see," said Mrs. Hunt, with a bitter smile, "and these men have allcome up prepared to swear that the boy said Sam was his father. Haven'tyou?"

  "Yes, mum," chorused the crew, delighted at being understood so easily.

  Mrs. Hunt looked across the road to the fields stretching beyond. Thenshe suddenly brought her gaze back, and, looking full at her husband,uttered just two words--

  "Oh, Joe!"

  "Ask the mate," cried the frantic skipper.

  "Yes, I know what the mate'll say," said Mrs. Hunt. "I've no need to askhim."

  "Charlie and Harry were with Sam when the boy came up to them,"protested the skipper.

  "I've no doubt," said his wife. "Oh, Joe! Joe! Joe!"

  There was an uncomfortable silence, during which the crew, standing forthe most part on one leg in sympathy with their chief's embarrassment,nudged each other to say something to clear the character of a man whomall esteemed.

  "You ungrateful little devil," burst out Mr. Legge, at length; "arterthe kind way the skipper treated you, too."

  "Did he treat him kindly?" inquired the captain's wife, inconversational tones.

  "Like a fa--like a uncle, mum," said the thoughtless Mr. Legge. "Gave'im a passage on the ship and fairly spoilt 'im. We was all surprised atthe fuss 'e made of 'im; wasn't we, Harry?"

  He turned to his friend, but on Mr. Green's face there was an expressionof such utter scorn and contempt that his own fell. He glanced at theskipper, and was almost frightened at his appearance.

  The situation was ended by Mrs. Hunt entering the house and closing thedoor with an ominous bang. The men slunk off, headed by Mr. Legge; andthe mate, after a few murmured words of encouragement to the skipper,also departed. Captain Hunt looked first at the small cause of histrouble, who had drawn off to some distance, and then at the house.Then, with a determined gesture, he turned the handle of the door andwalked in. His wife, who was sitting in an armchair, with her eyes onthe floor, remained motionless.

  "Look here, Polly--," he began.

  "Don't talk to me," was the reply. "I wonder you can look me in theface."

  The skipper ground his teeth, and strove to maintain an air of judicialcalm.

  "If you'll only be reasonable--," he remarked, severely.

  "I thought there was something secret going on," said Mrs. Hunt. "I'veoften looked at you when you've been sitting in that chair, with aworried look on your face, and wondered what it was. But I never thoughtit was so bad as this. I'll do you the credit to say that I neverthought of such a thing as this.... What did you say?... What?"

  "I said 'damn!'" said the skipper, explosively.

  "Yes, I've no doubt," said his wife, fiercely. "You think you're goingto carry it off with a high hand and bluster; but you won't bluster me,my man. I'm not one of your meek and mild women who'll put up withanything. I'm not one of your--"

  "I tell you," said the skipper, "that the boy calls everybody hisfather. I dare say he's claimed another by this time."

  Even as he spoke the handle turned, and the door opening a few inchesdisclosed the anxious face of Master Jones. Mrs. Hunt, catching theskipper's eye, pointed to it in an ecstasy of silent wrath. There was abreathless pause, broken at last by the boy.

  "Mother!" he said, softly.

  Mrs. Hunt stiffened in her chair and her arms fell by her side as shegazed in speechless amazement. Master Jones, opening the door a littlewider, gently insinuated his small figure into the room. The skippergave one glance at his wife and then, turning hastily away, put his handover his mouth, and, with protruding eyes, gazed out of the window.

  "Mother, can I come in?" said the boy.

  "Oh, Polly!" sighed the skipper. Mrs. Hunt strove to regain theutterance of which astonishment had deprived her.

  "I... what... Joe... don't be a fool!"

  "Yes, I've no doubt," said the skipper, theatrically. "Oh, Polly! Polly!Polly!"

  He put his hand over his mouth again and laughed silently, until hiswife, coming behind him, took him by the shoulders and shook himviolently.

  "This," said the skipper, choking; "this is what--you've been worriedabout---- This is the secret what's--"

  He broke off suddenly as his wife thrust him by main force into a chair,and standing over him with a fiery face dared him to say another word.Then she turned to the boy.

  "What do you mean by calling me 'mother'?" she demanded. "I'm not yourmother."

  "Yes, you are," said Master Jones.

  Mrs. Hunt eyed him in bewilderment, and then, roused to a sense of herposition by a renewed gurgling from the skipper's chair, set to work totry and thump that misguided man into a more serious frame of mind.Failing in this, she sat down, and, after a futile struggle, began tolaugh herself, and that so heartily that Master Jones, smilingsympathetically, closed the door and came boldly into the room.

  The statement, generally believed, that Captain Hunt and his wifeadopted him, is incorrect, the skipper accounting for his continuedpresence in the house by the simple explanation that he had adoptedthem. An explanation which Mr. Samuel Brown, for one, finds quite easyof acceptance.

  JERRY BUNDLER